


nobody wears black in here

by IvyPrincess



Category: NCT (Band), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyPrincess/pseuds/IvyPrincess
Summary: In many ways, Seoul is a city of youth, all glittering high-rises and crisp infrastructure, but she protects a hidden heart steeped in winding cobblestone and brittle centuries that most have clear forgotten. Belief in magic has long since fractured, surrendering gracefully to technology and the age of the internet. It’s left her ill-prepared for the coming.Or has it?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

New York has their Avengers, Europe the S.H.E., but Seoul will be no damsel in distress to bare a pretty neck for the newly introduced predators.

The people have never seen so many of them in one place, faces turned in the same direction from every window of every building. They had had just enough warning to herd everyone inside, but not enough time for a full evacuation.

 _They_ come slowly, melting out of the shadows as if the alien invasion is a middling concern at best, sauntering through grease fires as easily as a cat stalks unsuspecting prey. A foreign businessman with unfortunate timing inhales sharply, but everyone around him has long since become accustomed to their unsettling appearance.

They’re _young_ , these children of the city, lanky limbs and visible baby fat picking across battlefields with unnatural grace, but Seoul’s years cling to the angle of their jawlines in unnatural ways, and the mad grins that caper on the edges of their teeth only enforce the rumors. Some say it’s an honor, to inherit their ranks, wake up one day to a child who suddenly remembers the old. Some say it’s a curse, conscripting your blood to fight for an ungrateful populace. Regardless, no one dares to say any of this where _they_ can hear.

“A choice?” One of them had snorted when… _invited_ to cooperate with the authorities. It was a disrespectful noise, even more so from a pretty little black-haired thing with legs propped on their table and a heavy-lidded gaze beyond his apparent years. “You may do as you please, but the second your machinations scar the city, we will be there.” His smirk grows. “We will have our reaping.” The government never asked again.

While the rest of the world grumbled over mutant rights and overturned conspiracies like mounds of earthworms, Seoul continued to stay relatively quiet, succumbing to neither rebellion nor discontent. The West may have forgotten, but she had only been holding her breath, and _they_ are her exhale.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been years since anyone has attempted another Call. For the first time this decade, all of them are making their way towards the same city, and even the wind trembles in anticipation. They come from formlessness, from decadence, from distant dust, from slumber. The slight figure stares down at his beloved birthplace, one that may not remain standing through the slaughter.

“Are you sure about this?” The taller man behind him rumbles. His voice is husky with disuse, creased remnants of the restraints still visible across that bare chest. Despite still-oozing wounds, his gaze is steady, electric blue eyes trained on the man in front of him.

“I should be asking you that,” the first man replies, making eye contact through the black glass. “You know how this will end.”

The taller man seems to find their situation amusing, crooked lip showing a peak of fang. “And yet I’ve accepted the consequences. So I ask again: are you sure about this, Gamekeeper?”

Baekhyun turns around, tipping his chin up to look his prisoner in the eye, the thin chain stretched across his face gleaming with the motion. “They will hunt. And we will fall. Fate offers us no other choice.”


	3. Chapter 3

There’s enough palpable energy in the room that his blood audibly bubbles underneath his skin, and Guanhe- no, Hendery, tugs uncomfortably at his sleeves. He wants to rub his fingers over the welts he knows are forming underneath his skin, dig his nails into them and watch them unfurl, pinken, but no one else in the room has moved, and he doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

He doesn’t want to be marked as prey.

If the others are nervous at all, he can’t smell it at all, but underneath the thick layer of diverse scents carpeting the room, that isn’t saying much. Cardamom, tangerine, sharp acrid fear, all so strong it suffocates him, and he is no longer solely responsible for his own posture. His spine hangs loosely, all four limbs weightless, and he’d be more anxious if he weren’t concentrating on undoing the paralysis enough to be able to breathe.

A flutter of breath blows across his cheek, and Hendery barely flinches, knowing the purple that must blossom outwards from such a curious sensation. A breezy giggle comes from the boy hanging upside down in the air next to him, and although a few heads turn in their direction, no one seems to mind the spectacle.

“So you’re our newest little brother, hm?” Jungwoo, as his mind supplies, asks, silver hair defying gravity to stay framed around cherubic cheeks. He strokes a finger over his shoulder, and where he touches, Hendery’s blood stills like a river flowing backwards, freezing in his veins. 

Before Hende- _Guanheng_ , he desperately reminds himself, can think of a response, a different man appears in the middle of the room. There is no announcing of his presence, whether by sound, or light, or emotion. Just one second, he wasn’t there, and now he is. 

This time, Hendery balks, arms instinctively raising in front of his head. He can’t sense anything from the man, no emotions, no scent, no sensation of life… _or_ death. He just stands there, hands behind his back, silver chain slicing through his nose, white hair gleaming as he turns to survey them all. His announcement is short, and spoken in a mother tongue that vibrates through the fabric of their very being. They fall to their knees, all of them, even Jungwoo crumpling to the floor, hands clapped over their ears. 

It is the cacophony of song, the joy of war, a mandate from the flow of time herself.

“Seoul will mourn you in three days. Prevent her downfall, or cease to exist.”


End file.
